


Espial

by DriftingGlass



Series: The Afterschool Library Chronicle [4]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Study, Child Abuse, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gon Being Flirty, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Killua Being Oblivious, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Gon Freecss, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DriftingGlass/pseuds/DriftingGlass
Summary: [ Espial - "the action of watching or catching sight of something or someone or the fact of being seen." ]“So, did something happen between you and Freecss?”Killua pauses, and stares at Asher pointedly. “Why is that your business?”“Don’t need to be defensive.” He leans forward, his chin on his palm. “Was just curious. I know you guys hang out a lot and he’s pretty protective of you. He’s my teammate and I’d like to think we’re friends to some extent.” He allows his eyes to drop from Killua’s eyes to his lips, slow and deliberate, and he knows for a fact that the Zoldyck notices.Killua drops his pencil. Turns as rigid as a plank of wood. Recognition passes through his irises in a ferocious, silent storm.





	1. Reckless Abandon.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: forced kissing / attempted near-slight-sexual assault in this chapter. Not graphic at all but can be a potential trigger for the audience. Proceed with caution!

He never tried instigating conversation with him after he witnessed the attack.

He coiled his fingers carefully around one another, glancing over the scattered coloring pages showing multiple princesses and knights, some with long, possibly golden hair from extravagant towers. Some were gallantly prancing on their chosen steeds, wielding massive lances and steel swords. He furrowed his brow and concentrated harder with his colored pencils, shading the steel plate of the most recent knight as he gazed into the eyes of his maiden, whom he pictured as wearing pink—no, no, she should be periwinkle this time.

The door to the classroom opened.

Asher glanced up from his project, his fingers slightly trembling around the scattered array of pencils displayed in front of him. His eyes narrowed at the newcomer at the door, and then his eyes brightened with recognition.

_Killua?_

The teacher—tall and languid with short raven hair—did not say a word. He simply pushed up his glasses and gestured towards the other students, who either turned away from the bruised middle-schooler or paid too much attention to him. Their eyes followed him, hooked onto his worn clothes and visible purple bruises like lingering insects.

Asher stiffened and looked down. He didn’t want to talk to him. He was the one who informed another teacher about what happened at the park, though Dr. Krueger had promised him that his name wouldn’t be revealed since he bothered reporting the incident and telling the truth. He wondered if the Zoldyck child actually told his side of the story, considering how ruthless and dangerous his encounter with one Jordan Eskyll was.

Killua, skateboard in toe, his hands calmly shoved into his pockets, strolled by the front of the classroom with his eyes half-closed and head held low, not even bothering to say a word to his teacher. A strange silence filled the room, though the most distinguishable noises rested in scribbling hands and pens grazing lined paper. The self-identified delinquent bypassed the first four rows of students and took his place in the very back. He slouched forward, hands leaving his pockets and grasping his knees and tightening as if he was clutching onto softballs before the pitch.

Asher sighed, and slowly turned around. He rolled his eyes up and down the Zoldyck’s frame, and then, those striking storm-gray eyes opened and shot towards him.

A chill spread through his body and reached his toes and fingertips before he could even say anything. He opened his mouth, wondering if he should admit that he was the one who told Dr. Krueger about what happened, whether or not he should say anything at all. Yet, a total lack of recognition shone through Killua’s expression, as vibrant as the anger and unspeakable rage he’d bestowed on the normally peaceful playground only hours before.

“What are you staring at?”

Asher bristled. _Dang._ “Sorry.” He turned back to the teacher, who was busy writing bullet points on the blackboard, and then shifted his body halfway to somewhat remain diagonal to the student a couple empty rows behind him. “Did you get in trouble?” For some reason, he hoped that Killua wasn’t punished for, technically, doing the right thing, even when how quickly he moved and how… _inhuman_ he appeared for a few minutes was still burned freshly in his mind.

The Zoldyck raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Asher shrugged. “Curious.”

“Ah. Right. _Curious_.” He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “Don’t bother. You’re not gonna get an answer out of me.” Then, the white-haired Zoldyck blinked and sharply glared at Asher, those content gray and blue pools transforming into steely bolts of lightning. It turned Ash’s blood to ice, and ignited something deep inside him he wasn’t sure how to define. “Do you know what happened to Canary? Where is she?”

Asher swallowed. “I don’t…” He sighed. “I don’t know what happened to Canary. Sorry.”

Instantly, Killua’s stiff posture relaxed, but he turned somber once again. He leaned back in his chair and glared harshly into the opposite wall, his knee bobbing up and down in rhythmic, broken motions.

Asher nodded and, unsure what to do next, turned back in his chair and started scribbling once more on his coloring book. He knew it was stupid and overly childish to even find an interest in coloring at this point in time, but it worked best for his stress. At least, that was what Dr. Krueger insisted he should do.

He was the only person to look up when, in a flash, Killua Zoldyck bolted out of the classroom and disappeared down the hall.

* * *

  **… Four Years Later …**

* * *

Asher chugs his water bottle as quickly as he can, adrenaline rushing through his system in some discombobulated series of motions. The play runs through his mind on repeat through numerous gatherings with the coaches and teammates, glaring into the hardwood basketball court in front of him with zeroing concentration. The music is loud, pulsing in his ears and drumming like the beginnings of a marching band.

His palms are sweaty with nervousness and exhilaration, wondering how he’s been able to recover so quickly from the first ten minutes of the game, finding it difficult to track each sound and movement with his comrades as they compete against the Reedwood Fire Ants for the second time this year.

His co-captain, Gon Freecss, is forced to sit back and watch the events of the game, his hand bandaged and tightly wound with the proper care of an experienced doctor. His jaw is set in a hard line, eyes brittle with anger and frustration of not taking his energy out onto the court. He’s sporting their team jacket, colored black, blue and gold, his healthy fist clenched at his side, with nowhere else to turn to vent his energy.

Asher sighs, running a hand through his sweaty brown hair. His hoop earring glints slightly in the fading gym lights. Around him, the crowd grows louder and louder, adding layer upon layer of noise and fractured emotion that should resemble all the more importance to his team and himself. But, he’s not paying attention to them. For some reason, he can hardly glance in Gon’s direction without feeling his temper go far beyond what it should be capable of.

An unspoken tension has developed between them over the last several weeks, shortly after he’d agreed to drive him to the hospital with his tutor (or friend, he supposed) Killua Zoldyck right by his side. Gon hadn’t even said a word to him out of thanks unless the Zoldyck brought it to his attention, the silver-haired star student finding his attention drawn to the other as well.

Asher remembers the way his knuckles blanched on the steering wheel of his car, caught between scoping out Killua’s profile as he turned to scold Gon for his whining, and admitting that he hoped he would be able to talk to the white-haired teenager alone. He wants to instigate more, more than he had when they were in middle school, during those days where he became attached to the idea of Killua Zoldyck, simultaneously frightened of him and undoubtedly interested.

Then, he notices Gon’s entire disposition changed. His temporary misery and anger evaporates like clockwork, every single feature of his face illuminated in sudden brightness. He sticks out his hand, and waves.

Ah, of course.

Asher tosses his water bottle back and forth in his hands, and glances discretely over to where Killua has come over to Gon’s side. The two of them are already embroiled in another conversation, though the Zoldyck is, of course, exhausted. Ever since they were little, he’s always walked around as if the world has been placed on his shoulders, with not a single method of combating it in the process.

 _Leave them alone,_ he thinks, annoyed with himself. _Seriously. What is your problem, Perretti?_ He wasn’t going to be able to focus on the rest of the game if Killua was just… _standing_ there.

He wants to talk to him. But Gon has his attention, and when both of them were in the same vicinity it was almost impossible to direct one or the other away.

He stands up, brushes down his sweaty uniform, and casually makes his way over to the two of them. Without glancing at Gon, he swings both arms around the two teens, disrupting their conversation.

Killua instantly flushes a light red and glares. Gon stares at Asher blankly, both of them apparently confused at his presence.

“So what’s going on over here?” Asher grins. Killua scoots out from beneath his arm and lets it flop to his side. Asher brushes this off with a half-shrug. “That’s fine, that’s fine. Not going to share, then?”

“Was just asking Gon how he was doing,” says Killua, his tone smooth and careful, though an underlying secrecy laces his words. Asher raises an eyebrow, and decides he’ll pester him about it later. “You know, his hand and… yeah. That.” He scratches the back of his head, staring up at the ceiling to avoid any scrutinizing stare.

Asher bites his tongue to keep him from smiling.

Gon grins broadly. “Yeah, Killua has come to every game this year!”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Asher winks at Killua. The Zoldyck stiffens and snorts, not even bothering to acknowledge the gesture. “Say, Killua, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. You free after the game?”

Gon’s posture turns rigid, and his smile cracks. Just slightly.

And whether or not he’s guilty about it, Asher feels a strange sense of satisfaction at such a sight. He’s also more inclined to say something to Killua to make him turn another shade of red. Too many possibilities to count for that, honestly.

It was hard for him to believe that this flustered teenager was the same “too-perfect model student” that teachers fawned over after his delinquent middle school days.

Killua blinks. “Why?”

Asher folds his arms behind his head, grinning cheesily. “Some homework questions. We have trig together, pretty sure. Would love to get some help if possible.”

The Zoldyck ponders this over, then sighs. “Sure. I don’t mind.”

“You sure Killua?” Gon asks, feigning complacency. “You’ve been up pretty late recently, right? I could take you home with my aunt’s car after the game—”

“No, um, it’s fine.” Killua shrugs. “No big deal.”

Again, Gon’s clear attempts to hide his kicked-puppy expression brings Asher far too much joy.

* * *

“You have a key to the library?” Asher whistles. “Damn. Impressive.”

“I used to tutor a lot of athletes after school before Dr. Krueger had me tutor Gon one-on-one.” Killua sighs as he twists the item in the doorway. “Any reason you want to look over trigonometry homework this late at night?” He sounds suspicious, though Asher supposes he can’t really blame him.

The basketball player follows the shorter teen into the library, wincing as the lights are turned on. The bookshelves brim with clouds of dust and withered book spines. He recognizes many titles, both fiction and nonfiction, he had once been drawn to many years ago when he bothered spending hours reading in secrecy. He lost interest after meeting and befriending Jordan, though not seeing that messed up student for quite a while has given him some sort of leisure.

Killua motions towards a table separated between two unused computer monitors, setting down his notebooks, two paper folders and a box of pens and pencils. He shrugs off his jacket, revealing a long-sleeved magenta sweater overlaying a collared white shirt to go with his oddly formal (yet casual) dark gray jeans. His sneakers slightly scuff the carpet as he takes his seat, though Asher can’t help but… stare.

 _He looks nice._ He swallows.

Killua Zoldyck has always looked nice, but here, with the two of them in a place together on their own accord, feels oddly secret. His eyes sweep up Killua’s slender, toned form, noting the colors of his sweater and shirt and how they make his gorgeous eyes and pale skin pop. His hair is even more unruly tonight, sleep-induced bruises marring his bottom eyelids.

“You coming?” he asks, oblivious.

Asher chuckles. _Wow. I’ve never met someone this smart and oblivious at the same time._ He inwardly rolls his eyes and comes over to the desk, sitting down and plopping his backpack next to him. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out his trigonometry textbook, and flicks his eyes towards Killua, who has already taken out a chocolate bar and bit into it.

The Zoldyck takes out a laminated piece of paper annotated with thick borders and instructions on different math formulae. He looks over the piece, flips it over, and groans.

“Okay, well, I don’t have a study guide specifically for trig, but I’m pretty sure I can still help. So, what do you need to work on the most?” He doesn’t even glance up from his work, his candy bar in one hand while he traces the formulae and written documentation with a pencil.

Asher grins. “You know, in some weird way,” he pauses, tilting his head, “you’re pretty hot. Like, I’d for sure do all my homework if you were my college professor or something.”

Killua’s head shoots up, and his cheeks turn scarlet.

“J-Just focus on trig, Perretti,” he snaps.

Asher smirks. “Aw, c’mon, Killua. Loosen up once in a while.”

“I loosen up plenty,” says Killua, low and dark. “I agreed to help you, and I’m fucking tired, so let’s just get this over with and work on whatever.”

Asher bites his fingernails. He’ll have to try harder to get his attention.

“So, did something happen between you and Freecss?”

Killua pauses, and stares at Asher pointedly. “Why is that your business?”

“Don’t need to be defensive.” He leans forward, his chin on his palm. “Was just curious. I know you guys hang out a lot and he’s pretty protective of you. He’s my teammate and I’d like to think we’re friends to some extent.” He allows his eyes to drop from Killua’s eyes to his lips, slow and deliberate, and he knows for a fact that the Zoldyck notices.

Killua drops his pencil. Turns as rigid as a plank of wood. Recognition passes through his irises in a ferocious, silent storm.

“Acquaintances.” The flustered teen shakes his head, clearly annoyed with something else, and Asher knows that it doesn’t only revolve around him. Something happened between him and Gon, and he’s not going to comply if he just asks directly. “We’re acquaintances. That’s it.”

“Why not friends?”

“Maybe I think you’re annoying.”

“You think Gon is annoying.”

“Gon’s different.”

“Is he really? Or are you just making excuses for him?”

“Fuck you!”

Asher coils back. Killua is fuming from head to toe, his hands clenching on the edges of the table. There is nothing but anger and insult coloring him at this point.

For a moment, he resembles the Zoldyck he tried to talk to four years ago in Mr. Knov’s classroom.

“I’m done.” Killua stands up and quickly gathers his supplies together. Asher stands up as well, and is fast enough to quickly grab the Zoldyck’s wrists. The other teen glares frigidly towards the basketball player, his teeth visibly grinding. “Let. Go.”

“Just listen to me, okay?”

Asher sighs and slowly releases Killua’s wrists. He stares back with full frustration and annoyance, and a sense of protectiveness coiling through him. Asher can sense the tension just from being this close to him, and suddenly, he realizes how easy it would be to just bend down and kiss him.

 _Holy fuck._ He bites his tongue.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Killua snarls out. “I’m serious, Asher. I can easily take you down. Don’t mess with me.”

Oh, Asher believes him. He’d witnessed it himself, four years ago.

And Killua still has no recollection of him being there.

“Believe me, I know.” Asher shrugs and backs off a few inches.

Killua blinks in surprise, but seems to give him some sort of peace, as he settles to placing his supplies back down on the desk, and positions his back towards the table. He faces Asher with his hands on the chair. If Asher took one step closer, he’d be well into the Zoldyck teen’s personal space. Even more so than he was before.

“You really don’t remember me at all?” Asher asks, sighing. “Damn.”

“Pretty sure we’ve been over this.” Killua frowns. “Don’t remember much over the last few years.”

Asher raises an eyebrow. “I was there when you knocked Jordan out. For hurting Canary.”

Killua’s eyes widen at this, a slight moment of recollection clouding his expression. Then, it’s replaced by utter grief and defiance, and it’s poignant enough to rival the dollop of an ocean wave. “Right. Jordan Eskyll.” He rolls his eyes. “Bastard.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Asher chuckles. “Was pretty brave, what you did.”

Killua softens. “I don’t think so.” His voice has gone low, close to quivering, though Asher knows better than to pry too much.

Still, there’s something he wishes to test out.

“So.” Asher slowly leans forward, placing his hands on either side of Killua. The white-haired teen stiffens, another blush traveling up his neck and painting his porcelain skin another shade darker. He seems hesitant, unsure if he should attack him or if he should listen to what he has to say. Asher is secretly thankful for the latter option. “Let me take you out sometime?”

Killua scoffs, eyes as wide as dinner saucers. “The fuck? Where did— _why_?”

“I think you’re hot. And pretty damn smart and fun to talk to. Let me take you out. Just once.”

Asher’s grin widens despite itself; even if Killua and Gon had some sort of encounter, he knows for a fact that the spiky-haired co-captain doesn’t have a claim on Killua. The Zoldyck is his own person, and can make his own decisions. For some reason he feels like he has a chance, and maybe this will actually work in his favor this time. He’d never been successful trying to figure out Killua Zoldyck when they were younger, and now, years later, he has another chance. He won’t botch it this time.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Killua snaps. “Some kind of sick game with your team? What, are you all betting to see who can get the Zoldyck freak to snap again? Like in fucking middle school?”

Asher frowns and backs away, but just slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Killua glares sharply, and it pierces the athlete more than he’d like to admit. “I’m not ignorant. You should know this. Too many rumors circulate around my family, which I guess I don’t necessarily blame.” He sighs, exhaustion creeping into his growing frown. Asher feels a stab of guilt at pressuring him so soon, but his battling emotions are roaring to the surface with just how pained and raw Killua is allowing himself to be at the moment. “I’ve heard what your teammates have said. Gon insists nothing’s wrong but he’s just an idiot for keeping that from me. I don’t care what you all say, but don’t think you can play with my emotions like this. Go find someone else for your games—”

Asher reaches forward and cups Killua’s face in his hands. He’s close, _so close_ , and he doesn’t even want to think of how ridiculously stupid his teammates are, or how even Gon would even have the audacity to lie to someone like Killua.

The tension from him to Killua has become more unbearable by the day, and even hearing these details sparks something inside him.

“What are you…?” Killua stiffens, too shocked to register what’s happening.

Asher nods. “I’m not like them, you know.”

_I’m not Gon._

“Don’t touch me—”

Asher presses his mouth onto Killua’s.

An electric current passes between them, sparks up the hidden instincts he’s kept suppressed for so long, the unexplainable dreams he’s had of the Zoldyck teenager in this exact embrace suddenly connecting to make sense in his mind. He presses further, and is unaware of how the Zoldyck is struggling beneath him, his hands wavering and his form unsure of what to do. Asher’s movements are abrasive and strong, reaching down and grabbing Killua’s wrists.

He’s not aware of how close he is to the other, how he’s spread apart Killua’s legs and has placed himself too close. Killua is holding himself back, he can tell, but he’s not sure in what way. He forces his tongue into Killua’s mouth, ignoring the muffled exclamations of anger (and fright?) threatening to break them apart. He’s not sure how or when, but his strong hand, just one that leaves Killua’s constrained wrists, reaches for his sweater and forms a sharp tear in the fabric. The noise rips through the library’s secret silence, though neither of them are noticing.

The beautiful, white-haired, normally unattainable student struggles beneath him, his wiry body smooth and slick and Asher wants to see _more_ of him because he is gorgeous and pained and needs a savior of some kind and it doesn’t have to be _fucking Gon Freecss_ —

“ _Asher_!”

As if woken from some twisted, shamefully beautiful nightmare, Asher Perretti jolts back, blinking, and tastes the new blooming of iron spreading across his tongue. The heat that had been pressed between him and the young man just a few feet away vanished in a heartbeat. His throat jumps and plummets to his ankles, realization striking him.

Killua had bit him.

The Zoldyck is panting, face abnormally flushed, fresh bruising dotting his mouth and framing his slightly exposed neck. His sweater is completely ruined, tufts of cloth torn away and a sharp tear seared through the middle, revealing his collared undershirt. His hair is more tousled than before, but oh, his eyes have never been more beautiful.

Despite the guilt weighing on his conscience, satisfaction and desire for _more_ lingers in Asher’s subconscious. He tries to push it away, unsure of how to decipher what’s just happened, but the selfishness and greed lingers like twin serpents in his mind’s eye, rests on his heart in a battle with his respect and admiration for Killua Zoldyck.

“I…” Asher blinks, shaking his head.

_Why…_

“Killua, I’m—shit, I’m so sorry—” 

Killua does not stay to listen. He bolts out of the library, papers scattering in a distorted array behind him. His retreating form turns into a phantom in Asher’s mind. He watches as the door slams shut, and the past few minutes run in a terrifying limbo in his heart and core.

He slowly crumples to the floor, his fingers delving into the carpet. When he knows that he’s alone once more in the solitude of the library, he buries his face into his hands.

And sobs.


	2. Turmoil.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his encounter with Asher, Killua struggles to keep his emotions in check, when Canary comes to him with news that could make or break his already horrendous night.

His sister’s voice pierces his subconscious in desperate thrums, calling to him in the shadowed currents of a siren.

He braces himself in his bedroom, fingernails sinking into the carpet, his teeth grinding so hard he tastes blood welling over his gums and slithering into the remaining crevices of his mouth where’s already bitten and chewed so many times, desperate to be rid of the taste of the person who attacked him.

Killua leans back, sweat beading along his forehead, across the nape of his neck, his fingers dabbing his shoulders, clawing and grasping and desperate and lonely. He listens, wondering how he’ll be able to reach the basement secretly tonight when he can hardly keep himself together; he hears the female voice in his dreams, when he’s distracted in class, when he’s not in the presence of a certain student who shines with sun and summer fire.

 _I don’t know what to do._ His phone glows beside him, and he refuses to glance over at it. He already knows what it says.

Another missed call. Another voicemail. Another text. Another series of apologies from the person he would much rather not talk to at the moment—being pushed, slammed, _pressured_ against the ridge of that table, his wrists constricted and frozen in place while he was coerced and forced into bearing the weight of his assailant… no, no, no, he doesn’t want to recall it, but his attacker’s scent is still there. His former acquaintance’s cologne reeks on his ruined sweater, his tongue is still iron-cold in his mouth, dangerous and searching for a response.

Killua would never give it to him. He didn’t deserve to be kissed in any way, not by Gon. Not by Asher. The reasons differed and confused him in so many ways and he wants to bang his head against this pastel bedroom walls until he sees spatters of his own blood painting the surface.

The night air is crisp and somehow soft, slipping over his sweat-stained layers and curling through his hair. His exposed skin peppers with goose bumps, betraying any sense of false security he would normally try to experience after being afraid. His father hitting him, pinning him to the carpets, the family butlers whipping him, his own brothers bruising him, berating him—that was all tolerable. It was a tactic he learned to the best he could as the favored and yet, most hated, Zoldyck child.

His parents loved him and despised him. His mother wanted to be him and yet resented him all the same. His brothers varied in their opinions of them, though his eldest—Illumi, the shadow of his teachings, the unfortunate pale shadow to his nightmares—never says more than two words to him. He is often chided, criticized for showing emotional response to his torture, to the numerous beatings he’s endured.

No one had dared attack him, especially in this way, outside of his own home. It took him off-guard, allowing his normal defense mechanisms to become almost useless. He wrestled with the turmoil of whether or not to attack Asher and make him suffer for what he did, but a piece of his mind also knew he didn’t have a chance physically against him. He was strong, but not as tall or sturdy or muscular as the other. He was smarter, yes, but his advantage in that way… no, maybe he really was just weak.

Weak and emotional and useless. Words he’d been associated with many times, even as a young boy being led through one of hundreds of his mother and father’s dinner parties. His mother would card her fingers through his hair until her nails painfully sunk into his scalp, bidding him to be quiet while acknowledging that there were always “improvements to be made.”

 _Improvements_. He always needed improvements. Like some twisted automaton bred for the purpose of following another’s rules. Another’s customs. And there was only one person who ever questioned his role in the household aside from Canary. And that very person was punished and chained to the bottom layers of their manor, occasionally allowing her whispers to travel through the walls and haunt Killua’s every nightmare. She breathed life and fear into him, let him know that she was somehow there, and yet, somehow wasn’t.

_What’s happening to me?_

His jaw tightens, an uncomfortable tension coiling in his back, spreading through his fingers; a numb electric current that rivals the sensations he felt kissing Gon. The sensations he felt being kissed forcefully, against his will, while he struggled to communicate and believe that he was terrified and alone.

He knew, as soon as he bolted out of that library and pumped his arms in a heavy sprint down the sidewalk until eventually deciding to walk home, that he was lucky. Very, very lucky.

He was strong but not strong enough; he had used shock and unsureness to his advantage. He had successfully lured the other person into his depths of manipulation for his benefit, and this was one of few times where he didn’t feel guilty. The manipulative tactic that would save him from the remainder of an encounter he wasn’t sure he could even visualize.

His avoidance with teachers in middle school and charming disposition earned him the rights to solid grades and solid recommendations, but holding those fine blue ribbons and smiling pearly whites to higher officials never meant anything to him. That same numbness weighed on his heart and mind like a sack of stones sinking to the bottom of a pond.

Killua slowly stands up, a headache swirling behind his temples. He bites his knuckles, eyes darting around his bedroom, consistently wallowing in the darkness that envelops the small, square space. His desk is immaculately put together, pencils and pens stored away in a ten-shelf organized compartment made entirely of plastic. His private studying folders, courtesy of older brother, are gathering dust, unopened with hundreds of laminated sheets slipped between their black forms.

“Fuck this room.” Killua pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling shakily. “Fuck it. God…” He shakes his head, grumbles under his breath, and leans back against the wall. Then, his throat turns and shifts into a tighter canal, his thoughts rushing toward the image of a little boy with long black hair, smiling up at him with eyes that rival the blues of his ownHe—she. She’s still trapped.

Killua shakes his head, a searing pain roaring through the back of his head. His knee bobs up and down. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. The pattern turns numb and sparks into life in his mind in a jumbled rhythm, caught in a linked chain of images and memories that should not belong together, but somehow do.

A knock sounds on his bedroom door. He winces as if he’d been slapped, grimacing at the bruises already formulated onto his neck and shoulders. He calmly swallows and wills himself to be quiet; he snuck in through the window to his room. He was quiet enough to not draw any attention, so how did someone know in the mansion?

“Master Killua? I know you’re in there. May I come in?”

In that instant, relief washes over Killua. He almost laughs; of all people he could see right now—at least, that he has the ability to see on his own will—this voice is the one he needs to hear the most.

“Yeah.”

The door opens and closes quickly, the familiar, feminine figure of a girl two years his senior with skin the color of freshly brewed coffee slips into his room with the gait of a shadow. She stops, and he realizes tonight she’s dressed in a long-sleeved cotton blouse, perspiration slick on her nose and cheekbones. She looks exhausted, her large, deeper brown eyes illuminated with forced energy for the sake of her job.

“Master Killua—”

“Canary,” says Killua, sighing, “don’t call me that. Ever.” She pauses, and he clears his throat. “Please. Just, you know how that makes me feel.”

He can hear her fine, polished shoes shifting into his carpet. He winces as she flicks on the light, annoyed at the sight of his too-perfect desk and equally sterile bedsheets and cracked-open windowsill. He knows it’s a risk for Canary to even set foot in his bedroom without supervision, and he knows for a fact that she’s come here on her free will.

He doesn’t deserve a friend like her.

“Of course, Killua.” Her eyes soften. She dips her head. “I saw you sneak through the back garden and into your room. Don’t worry, I didn’t alert the butlers or Mr. and Mrs. Zoldyck.”

Killua nods. “I didn’t think you would.” He sighs. “Thanks.”

She searches his face, probing for any signs of outside harm. He almost snorts at the irony of it all, even though none of it is necessarily her fault. The thousands of apologies she communicates through her risking being beaten alongside him keeps them at an allied length in his own household. Still, the way her eyes darken, in a similar way he’s sure he’s seen on one other person in particular, instantly strikes him as caring. Familiar.

“Did something happen to you?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

He frowns. “No. It’s not for you to worry about.” And it wasn’t. He doesn’t want Canary to find out what just happened to him.

According to Asher Perretti, all three of them had known each other in middle school. According to Asher Perretti, he had been _there_ when Killua broke Jordan Eskyll’s nose and jaw for touching Canary and humiliating her in public. He had been there, had recorded the events with his own eyes, had tried talking to him afterwards in hopes of grabbing his attention. And years later, he’d turned greedier than Killua would have ever expected.

Canary’s hands ball into fists, containing strength Killua has been sorry enough to witness on more than one occasion. She’s slender and deceivingly powerful, though her soul and will are stronger than any physical punch and kick she’s managed to throw. The way she’s observing his ruined clothes, thrown-about hair and shocked, shaking form is enough to confirm her suspicions; she’s brilliant. Not as smart as him, he supposes, but damn close.

“I came in here because I was worried, but, I have another reason for coming.”

Killua raises an eyebrow at her. She glances around her, as if someone is actually listening to their conversation. His heart leaps in his chest, suddenly coming to a myriad of conclusions as to what she’ll say next.

Canary comes closer to him, yet the distance between them is still careful. Killua can only trust her at the moment, even when a brief, lightning-flash image of Asher pushing himself too close careens in his mind. He bristles and instinctively steps back and abruptly finds the wall. At Canary’s questioning look he shakes his head and mumbles an apology.

“Killua, she—they’re going to send her away.”

Killua’s eyes burst open. Suddenly, all thoughts of Asher attacking him disappear from his conscience, replaced immediately by the image of a little boy—a little girl, caught between shifting personalities where one speaks adoringly to him and murderously to others, while the other is the painstaking image of childish naivety. And eyes bluer than the ocean in summer, bluer and brighter and sharper than the storms in his dreams.

“ _No_ , they—why? They can’t. They _won’t_.” He bristles, growls, desperately suppressing the anger surging in his gut. Canary watches him, tense and careful, as if to stop him from doing something reckless. Or stupid. “We had a _deal_!”

Lashes for her safety. Bruises for her safety. Pretending she didn’t exist, forcefully imprisoned in the bottom level of their mansion, keeping his tongue in check for

“You need to save her, Killua.” Canary’s words are so quiet Killua has to strain to hear them, but the intention behind her posture and the swimming emotion in her eyes are enough to tell him exactly what level of truth are behind her claims. “She’s still down there, and… I took the spare key. We can go, and free her. And, you need to get out of here.” She hesitates, each word heavy with the fact that she’s betraying Killua’s powerful, dangerous, dark family. “Their plans for you… you—Master Kil—Killua, no, Killua you _can’t_ let them get ahold of you. Not now. Not ever.”

Killua’s brow furrows. “Canary, what are you talking about?”

“Do you trust me?” She’s desperate at this point. For a moment, it seems like Canary’s carefully statuesque façade will crack and she will burst into tears out of worry for the one person she cares about.

Killua slowly nods. “More than anyone else right now.”

Gon Freecss’ perfect smile flashes through his mind’s eye, all dimples and rays of hidden flirtation and bouts of innocence.

 _Well_ , Killua considers, _almost anyone else._

He would have to talk to Gon later, but now, Canary’s words sink in, and an utter wave of unsureness and desperation takes hold of him. He hesitates and nearly trembles on the spot, unable to picture how his sister is faring in the bottom of his own house.

“If we go now, maybe you’ll have a chance.” Canary comes closer to him and dips her head respectfully, an air of loyalty and devotion spread between them in an untouchable thread. “Please let me help you escape, Master Killua. It’s my duty as your butler—”

“Canary I’m not your _fucking master_.”

Killua barely holds himself back from lashing out, but she doesn’t deserve his yelling. She deserves to know that she’s more than what she believes herself to be, and he knows that no matter how many times he will tell her otherwise, she will never trust his word over her intentions and duty.

It pains him each day when he thinks about it; the conflicting worries between his imprisoned sister and his only friend in the mansion sparks something inside him.

He reaches out, and tenderly touches Canary’s shoulder. She lifts her head, blinking towards him slowly.

“You’re my friend. I trust you.”

Killua holds his breath, desperately trying to contain his emotions. He’s not going to allow himself to break before he even sees his sister—although, the thought of unlocking those wretched doors and being able to see her again sends a sharp chill down his spine. How much has she grown? How long has it been since he’s held her hand, since he’s told her a story to lull her to sleep before being forcefully dragged away by his older brother’s snake-like hands?

A sharp tapping ricochets on glass. His window.

Canary then jolts, and glares harshly towards the source of the noise, her pupils dilated and eyebrows risen in concentration. She almost seemed feline with how focused she was. “Someone’s there.”

Killua frowns and follows her gaze, and nearly balks in disbelief.

“G- _Gon_?”

There, crouched on his knees and shivering in the freezing cold with his knuckles rapping ferociously on the glass, is Gon Freecss himself. He smiles sheepishly towards Killua and gestures to the locks on the windows.

Killua can feel his cheeks already burn.

Canary blinks at him. “You know him?”

“… Friend of mine, you could say.”

“He seems… rather eager to invade your personal space.” Canary’s hands twitch over the baton strapped to her slender waist. “Shall I be rid of him for you?”

Killua’s teeth grit, and if he were alone he would have banged his head against the wall and pretended that nothing was wrong at all, that his irritation and near-hear-attack wasn’t already sending his blood pressure through the roof. He crosses his arms behind his head, casting a sideways glance at the skeptical Canary.

“Maybe we should leave him out there.”

Gon tilts his head beyond the glass, clearly confused.

Killua holds back a snicker. “Yeah. Make him wait.”

Then, Gon’s eyes widen, as if reading his lips. With a small, mischievous smirk, Killua sees that Gon is flexing his hands, effectively cracking his knuckles and clearly presenting the movement on purpose. The white-haired Zoldyck blinks in disbelief, as if daring his companion to actually do it. In that moment, Gon grabs the handlebar outside the window, twists, and _snaps_ it off.

Canary raises an eyebrow. “Hm.”

Killua growls, dragging one hand down his face as Gon makes his own entry into his bedroom. He pulls up the window and slips inside, his smile much too broad and proud to belong to an unwelcome intruder.

“Killua! I found you!”

Canary quickly clasps one hand over her mouth, preventing a _giggle_ of all things. Killua glares at her and then turns to Gon with his hands on his hips.

“Gon, what the hell are you doing at my _house_?”

With Gon here, there are a hundred—no, a _thousand_ possible scenarios that could drive a wedge between the rare fragments of piece he struggles to experience in his own home. He’s kept his friendship and tutoring with Gon a total secret from his ridiculous parents and even Canary, and now that he’s here, there are too many things he would have to explain if they were ever discovered in his vicinity. In his bedroom, plotting to rescue his sister—

His little sister. His precious baby sister.

His hands slowly ball into fists. The sounds around him begin to blur into white noise. His nails break the skin of his palms, reopening old wounds out of nervous, tempered habit.

Gon’s voice finally finds him, and it’s loaded with nothing but genuine, heartfelt concern.

“Killua?”

Canary is quiet, observing Gon’s form from top to bottom, standing beside Killua in total preparation to attack if need be. Gon is not even paying attention to her other than a polite nod and acknowledgement of her presence. He quickly directs his eyes back to Killua, his brow furrowed and eyes smoldering hot with confusion and desperation.

Killua shakes his head, blinking and rubbing his forehead. “Sorry. I—just a headache.”

“A headache?” Gon frowns, as if _he’s_ the one in pain. The look makes Killua want to kick himself. He can’t believe he almost had Canary make Gon wait outside in the cold like some abandoned puppy in winter. “Do you need water? Or medicine? Or—or, anything? You have tea here, right?” He turns to Canary. “Do you have tea?”

Again, Canary struggles to contain her amusement.

“Master Killua likes hot chocolate.”

Gon groans in exaggerated misery. “But that’s not good for headaches—”

“ _Okay_ , one, that’s totally false. Hot chocolate cures everything. _Two_ , Gon,” Killua begins, fuming, “what the _fuck_ are you doing in my house?!”

Gon hums for a moment, bouncing on his toes and glancing around him as if watching an invisible fly. “I called you to check on you and to get an update on when we were hanging out and stuff tomorrow, because you made me promise to remind you the day before because you have so much on your plate, and yeah. So, so yeah, when you didn’t pick up your phone I got worried and knew that you would probably be at your house. And I couldn’t find Asher, so…”

He trails off, and then, turns to Killua once more.

Guilt stabs the Zoldyck in the chest. His phone had buzzed so many times he assumed it was just Asher trying to reach him after attacking him like that in the library of all places.

“Sorry. Wasn’t looking at my phone. Let’s just drop it, okay? There are other things we need to talk about—”

“Wait,” says Gon.

The temperature in the room drops.

Killua stiffens. _Shit_.

Gon’s eyes sweep Killua from top to bottom. The movement is so slow, calculating, predatory and _focused_ that it grabs Killua’s insatiable attention as well. He shifts beneath this glare, understanding that every loose stitch, every torn piece of cloth and every messed strand of hair that’s been roughly moved out of place is anything but normal for him. He should have changed when he came home, should have given that extra thought outside of being scared out of his mind to grab a different shirt or sweater. Or, _anything_.

Canary even takes a step back. She senses something has changed in Gon.

Gon’s eyes are hollow, blank and questioning. He finally reaches Killua’s eyes again.

“Killua,” he says, “what… who _did this_ to you?”

Killua shakes his head. “We can talk about that later. Gon, I need to take care of something right now with Canary—”

“Canary?”

“My butler; she’s my friend, actually. My first friend.” Killua gestures with a flick of his head towards the girl in question, who’s eyes are solely glued to Gon. She is wary of him, like a mother tiger protecting her cubs. Killua bristles at the comparison and sighs in exasperation. “There’s something I need to take care of, alright? We can talk about the messy state I’m in later. I was just being stupid and… tripped, in the woods on the way back.”

Gon blinks. Slowly. “You tripped.”

“Yes. You’ve seen me trip before. You know, skateboarding.”

Killua’s neck burns with guilt of not telling Gon the truth and the utter ridiculousness of his lie. He’s distracted at the thought of his sister, wondering how she’s doing, and what little time they probably have, yet the fear lingering under his skin from Asher’s forced touch makes him want to express how he feels. Would it be wrong to tell Gon what happened? Would it be wrong to express his emotions? His concerns over what had been exploited in that moment?

 _Yes_ , he reasons, _it would be._

Gon doesn’t have to know the truth.

“So, you tripped. In the woods.” This rare moment of dripping sarcasm and bluntness from Gon is like an extra slap in Killua’s face. Of all nights to receive this sort of treatment and acknowledgement, this could possibly be the worst one fate has chosen. “We take a similar route to our houses from school, Killua. No one goes through the woods.”

Ah, there was his mistake.

Killua groans. “Anyway, it’s not important!” He turns to the butler girl, who sighs. She’s clearly holding whatever restraint she can for both of their sakes, and if they wait too long, his parents could find out that Gon is here, that Canary is conspiring with him… so many things could just go absolutely and horrifically _wrong_. “Canary, let’s go, okay?”

She eyes him strangely. “Master Killua—”

“Stop. Calling me. Master Killua.” He snorts. “This is pissing me off, okay? Let’s just go find my sister and—”

“Wha—you have a _sister_?” Gon blinks and his mouth widens in the shape of an ‘O’ in shock and bewilderment. “That’s amazing!”

 _At least he’s distracted,_ Killua thinks with a slight tinge of gratefulness. He coughs into his fist and glances between the both of them. “We don’t have a lot of time. I can’t explain a lot to you, Gon, but yes, I have a sister, and she’s kept in the bottom of the mansion like some broken rag doll, and she doesn’t belong down there and we need to get her out. Okay? Okay. Great. I’m glad we had this amazing conversation.”

He makes his way to his bedroom door, growling.

He doesn’t know how Gon has reacted, but he needs to focus on finding his sister. The fact that the world seems to be being especially wonderful and incredibly cruel to him all at once is grating his nerves to an unbearable extent. He doesn’t even notice how Canary has already brushed past him, cracking open the door and scoping the hallway.

“For now, it’s clear. We should move quickly,” she whispers.

Killua nods. He moves to follow Canary as she slips out of his door when he feels a strong, calloused hand snatch his wrist. He turns behind him, and finds that Gon is, once again, staring with utter seriousness in his breathtaking golden eyes.

Killua’s voice leaves him, temporarily lost in those depths, entranced momentarily by the simple tremor of Gon’s pulse in his neck, his bronze skin and the faint dusting of freckles on his nose…

It never takes long. A smile. A wave. A simple greeting and Killua is almost completely bent to Gon’s natural charm. It’s almost ethereal, just how raw and real the son of Ging Freecss is without even trying.

“What really happened, Killua?”

Snapping out of the temporary spell, Killua suppresses his panic with a brief snort. Goose bumps trail along his flesh, a brief reminder of Asher grasping his wrists and pinning him to the table, his legs being pushed apart with the other’s hips coming too close to his own—

He rips his hand out of Gon’s grip. His jaw is hard as rock.

“Just drop it, Gon.”

But of course, the jock is unable to process this without another demand. “You’re not telling me the truth. Someone… did someone from your family—”

“What will make you drop this, Gon? Seriously!” Killua knows that Canary is already maneuvering her way down the hall. “Come on. We have to _move_.”

“I’ll drop it and come with you if you tell me the truth.”

Killua freezes. He stares at Gon unblinkingly, reading every trace of honesty and earnestness coloring his friend’s expression. He can hardly believe how close they’ve somehow become in their odd dynamic, how they’ve become embroiled in heated emotion and odd, misplaced fantasies outside of school grounds with little control holding them back. He knows how Gon tastes, how he smells when he’s gripping him and desperate for attention. He knows how his brain works, but moments like these are what surprise him the most.

For some reason, it still surprises him. And it shouldn’t.

“I don’t believe that, Gon. You’re not going to drop it if I tell you the truth.”

A beam of darkness flashes through Gon’s eyes. Killua notes the slight twitch in the other’s hands, as if subconsciously searching for something to strangle. It’s as if Gon can read his mind but is unsure of what he’s witnessing at the same time.

“And why is that?” Gon is trying to find his own conclusion. Killua swallows, sweat beading his temples. He’s already treading on thin, thin ice—any other step in the opposite direction and the surface will break, and both of them will plunge into frigid waters.

“It’s not a big deal. It happens all the time—”

“ _Killua_.”

Gon’s disposition changes with a slight lump visible in his throat. Killua holds back the guilt pushing against him, the thoughts of his sister bombarding his present concerns. The absolute worry that overshadows Gon’s frustrations are so prominent that Killua suddenly feels a simple surge of regret for holding anything back.

“I—I was just… cornered, okay? Some jock wanted to get lucky, I guess, and I escaped! No big deal. I took care of it, alright? Let’s just go.”

“Get _lucky_?” Gon’s voice is barely on the edge of control. He’s finally come to a beacon of answers he’s been searching for while Killua was speaking, and the Zoldyck knows this look from the student he’s been tutoring for months without even questioning it.

Gon is smart when he chooses to be, and Killua’s attempts on downsizing the situation only seems to be making it much, much worse.

 _Fuck. No. This isn’t good._ “Gon, just listen, okay—”

“Someone—someone _touched_ you? They did _that_ to you?” He points spastically to Killua’s torn sweater, and instantly his skin flushes a rosy pink. If Gon weren’t so angry it would’ve looked almost comical, but no, there was absolutely nothing comical about the way Gon Freecss is glaring harshly into his form. Killua is secretly thankful that he’s not the target of this growing temperamental outburst.

“They—they just kissed me and I fought back long enough to get them off me, okay? It’s not a big deal. They didn’t… they didn’t make it far enough to do anything. It’s fine.”

His attempts to diffuse this only sound as if he’s baiting him further, and none of that is his intention.

Gon’s eyes snap towards him, struggling to focus.

“It was Asher, wasn’t it?”

It’s barely a question. It travels on a thin current of wind in Killua’s bedroom.

Gon’s voice had gone cold. As if a statue had come to life and started speaking. It resembled the same Gon who confronted Killua on Haverforth High School’s rooftop, where he’d struggled hiding his fresh bruises from his friend without gaining this type of reaction.

He never expected Gon to care that much, to embrace a surge of anger that seemed so unreachable by any other person, or even within the mind and gait of someone who exuded sunshine and kindness.

But the skeletons in Gon’s closet grappled his temper in mysterious ways. And when it came to Killua, it always seemed to come roaring to the surface with dire consequences.

“Gon. I took care of it.” Killua levels his voice. He needs to reason with him. “Hey, Freecss, come on. Please. Say something. Are you listening?” He hesitates. “Can… can you hear me at all?”

Gon is staring unblinkingly towards the opposite wall, his normally vibrant amber-honey irises turning stone-cold and blacked out like twin voids. His fists are clenched, blood dripping onto Killua’s carpet. His breathing has turned labored and slow, and Killua knows with a surge of fright that his friend is trying his best to calm himself.

Killua can’t leave Gon in his bedroom while he’s fighting some inner battle. He cranes his neck to glance out the door. Canary is already gone. He knows that they’ve already run out of time by this point, and his sister is still trapped against her will in the bottom of the Zoldyck manor.

He pushes those frustrations aside.

 _I’m so sorry…_ he bites his tongue, groaning at the emotional exhaustion surging through him. He wants to bang down every door of his home and confront his siblings and parents for their wrongful treatment of him, of Canary, and _especially_ his perfect, goodhearted, innocent and beautiful sister. None of that will happen tonight, though. None of it _can_ happen tonight because he’s been attacked and his attempts to move on from it haven’t garnered his attention in any successful way.

Killua glances back towards Gon, swallowing. He’s still in the same position.

Unfocused. Glazed. His arms trembling. Body stationary.

“Gon?”

Then, Gon snaps his head back towards Killua. His eyes brighten, a long exhale sighing into the air, barely alleviating the constrictive atmosphere.

“I’m sorry.”

Killua frowns. “… Why are you sorry?”

“Your sister.” Gon shakes his head, sighing shakily. “Let’s go find her.”

“We’ve already run out of time—”

“If your family appears, I’ll fight them.”

He shrugs. But it’s not the same shrug Killua has seen from his friend repeated on many occasions, on those rare hot days when they grab ice cream after mulling over math and science equations for two hours. No, this shrug is forced. Gon is desperately trying to escape his own thoughts, and Killua can see each line of his friend’s emotions contort the normal simplicity of his facial features.

“You should go home, Gon. It’s not safe for you to be here.”

“It’s not safe for _you_ to be here.” Gon eyes him warily. “I’ll help you.”

The fact that every word coming out of Gon’s mouth is serious, blank and not like him makes Killua shiver as if chucked into a winter rainstorm. He bristles and refuses to crack open his bedroom door to stare into the hallway. Do they really still have a chance to find his sister? Even without Canary’s help if she’s gone into hiding?

Gon is leveling him. He is being more honest and open and raw now than Killua has ever seen him, and it causes a firm blush to rise to his cheeks.

He’s not sure where it’s coming from or why he’s so drawn to the idea, but the change in the air stirs something within him. It’s foreign and yet, familiar, a current of electricity and fire scorching his lungs and trickling through his bloodstream. Through his arms, his legs, his fingers and his toes. He feels it everywhere.

For some reason, he believes what Gon is saying. There is still a slight chance they can reach the bottom floor to find his sister and set her free. He can introduce her to Gon, and Gon to her, and hopefully nothing but good will come from that. Imagining his sister, older now, of course, embracing him upon first meeting and then instantly finding complimentary similarities in Gon brings the faintest ghost of a smile onto his lips.

“Okay.” Killua sighs. “Let’s go.”

 _Thank you_.

He wants to say it, but he knows it’s not the time. Gon is still barely there, struggling. Battling. This is one fight Killua cannot intervene. It’s not Jordan Eskyll insulting Canary or even Asher forcing himself onto him. It’s a battle he can only witness and hope for while encouraging from the sidelines, and that thought alone stings him.

They begin motioning into the hallway. The mahogany carpet wrinkles beneath their steps. Killua keeps close to the wall, signaling every once in awhile for Gon to remain close. The other teen does not say a word, but he’s obedient with his movements and expectations. He is close to Killua like a lingering shadow, his breath hot and animal-like. The Zoldyck struggles concentrating even as they wind down the spiraling staircase. He wants to break into a sprint and burst down the doors to where his sister is being kept—

“Killua.”

Killua stiffens and glances at Gon, eyebrow risen. They’re close to turning the corner of the last staircase to the first floor. Another level after that, and he will be able to show Gon exactly where his sister is being kept.

“Gon, I’m trying to concentrate. We’re close, now.”

“I know, Killua. We’re going to find her.”

The tiniest smile cracks the corners of Gon’s mouth. He nods his head, glancing briefly out to the finely tiled first floor, though his eyes are not swallowing any of these details. Killua can see the lack of awareness, the slight claustrophobic aura warping Gon’s attention.

“After this, though,” says Gon, “we need to talk.”

 _Talk? What the fuck?_ They already talked!

Killua rolls his eyes despite the seriousness of their situation. “I don’t know why we need to—”

“I need to know how much he needs to suffer for what he did to you.”

Killua’s blood chills to ice. He slowly turns to Gon, once again completely distracted by the utter… _blankness_ and outright murderous intent clinging to Gon’s frame and disposition like some distorted phantom.

“Gon, that’s not—no, that’s not necessary.”

“No one touches you like that. No one _disrespects_ you like that.” Gon swallows, barely hanging onto what’s left of his control.

Then, he faces Killua again, and there is nothing in Killua’s mind that doubts the bloodlust and rage coloring his friend’s expression.It screams one thing in Killua’s mind. It’s a look he’s seen before, one too many times.

_I’m going to kill him._

Killua’s mouth runs dry.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU EVERYONE for the response to the last chapter! Thank you so much for your honest comments, kudos and bookmarks! It warms my heart that you're all willing to talk about this story like adults and to actually engage in conversation about its content. I know that the last chapter ruffled some feathers, and yes, that was the point. Asher is a character that is necessary for this story's plot, and now we get to see more development between Killua, Gon, and of course... our other favorite Zoldyck. :) 
> 
> Thank you again, everyone. Please let me know what you thought in a comment or just hit that kudos button! I appreciate it more than you know! I will respond to any questions that are brought to my attention.


	3. The Damage is Done.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon battles with his inner demons. Killua seeks out his sister. The two of them are at their breaking point, but after the chaos, there's a conversation that needs to take place...

_Killua…_

He was attacked. Pushed to the brink against his will, his clothes viciously torn, fear prevalent in his eyes, his slender body nearly broken over… something solid and rough, from what he can tell. His hair is tousled and some strands are clearly shoved forcefully out of place, puncture wounds on Killua’s palms from how mercilessly he’d pressed his fingernails into his own ivory skin. He hesitates to walk straight, bruises marring his exposed flesh, with a fresh outline colored red and bluish purple encasing his wrists like firm shackles.

Gon can taste his own blood. He’s already bitten into his tongue numerous times, desperately attempting to soothe the serpentine voices barking in his mind, commanding him to leave the manor at once and confront the sick, sorry person who dare lay a finger on Killua Zoldyck.

His senses sharpen. He can hardly pinpoint any particular detail in the Zoldyck mansion, scoping out just the faintest outlines of glass, painted vases, sweeping portraits of bitter, frosted landscapes splashed in still images across multiple ceilings, and even the occasional glimmer of deep mauve carpet. The rug stretches and bleeds into tiled marble, beneath the flickering glare of a crystal chandelier, and all that Gon can see in the sparkling gems is his reflection, where he can see Killua focused on the current objective, and he’s doing nothing but trying to distract himself.

 _Killua…_ He suppresses a low, menacing growl from vibrating in his throat. He swallows it back, as if taking a gulp of water, and follows Killua further into the lower levels of the manor. It’s just the two of them, now, and the longer Gon sticks behind Killua, the more he stares into his friend’s back. He can see how tight his friend’s shoulders are, how uncertain and _frightened_ Killua is, despite his best efforts to conceal it.

No matter how stoic he appeared to students and teachers in the hallways, the near-valedictorian was incredibly easy to read.

Yet now, Gon wished that he wasn’t able to. He wished he couldn’t see directly through Killua’s lies, as if he could just trust him to his full extent, because he knows for a fact that Killua has lied on multiple occasions to keep him out of his secret, dark, dangerous world.

It’s thrilling to think about, but with how he’s been inflicted with bruises and horrible lashings that he hasn’t seen with his own two eyes (yet), he knows, just _feels_ , that there is always something wrong. It lingers in the air, prods in the quiet inner bowels of the mansion, and all he can think about now is how Killua is clearly scared and tense.

Then, he remembers the name. The one ticket of confirmation that made his heart drop once his friend desperately admitted the identity of his would-be assailant.

_Asher. Asher Perretti. Asher. Asher. Asher. Teammate. Co-captain. Killua’s hurt. Killua’s hurt._

Gon cannot hold it back this time. His lips peel back, fists clenching so hard he ignores the searing pain in his injured, bandaged hand, and releases a snarl that’s loud enough to cut through the momentary silence between them.

Killua picks up on this. He glances behind him. Fixates those breathtaking eyes on him. Normally they would entrance him in a way he couldn’t describe, leave him speechless while he handed Killua his chocolate ice cream and watched as his tutor delighted in the simple things in life that he, admittedly, never had time for until he started tutoring Gon Freecss.

“Gon?”

He barely hears him. It’s a strange funnel of white noise, pressuring against his temple while he imagines, horrifically, just how his _co-captain_ of all people would dare take a step out of his boundaries and try to touch Killua in a way that was more than inexcusable.

“Sorry,” Gon barely grinds out, shaking his head. The hot, bubbling frustrations coil in his gut and bake in a newfound flurry. It comes in waves, like summer tornadoes preparing to strike the most unsuspecting small towns. He knows he’s strong enough, even with a broken hand, to do much more than teach Asher Perretti a lesson.

“Hey.”

This time, Killua’s voice is soft.

Gon blinks, momentarily captured once again in reality. They are in an entirely new area of the mansion, completely different from the previous scenery he had witnessed. The walls are closed in, much tighter than before and nothing but resembling cracked cement slabs. The numerous doorways they’d walked through hadn’t even clicked in his mind. He was preoccupied envisioning exactly what he had hoped, what he had needed to do as soon as all of this was over.

As soon as Killua found what he was looking for, Gon would let him obtain his happiness, and then they would talk.

He needed to know. He needed to know what Asher did. All of it.

All of it.

_Asher hurt Killua._

Asher had placed his hands on his best friend. Yes, Killua was exactly that—his _best_ friend.

A friend he was undoubtedly attracted to.

A friend he had gladly kissed in the alleyway and wanted to run his fingers through those soft snowy locks and taste him even more under the blistering afternoon sun.

A friend who rejoiced in his accomplishments even though he wasn’t the biggest fan of basketball.

A friend who gave him a chance and saw past the surface when no one else did.

A friend who willingly lied to keep him safe, despite his desperate pleas.

A friend who was perfectly flawed in his grumpiness and sugar addiction and inability to live without copious amounts of coffee.

A friend who hated himself to an extent that Gon could never understand because all he saw was an impossibly beautiful person that the world did not deserve.

A friend who… who he _definitely_ wanted to kiss again.

He’d wanted to kiss Killua minutes after his hand was bandaged in the hospital, wanted to thank him for bothering to take him there at all, even though Asher was there and eyeing them like a green-eyed hawk. He was ashamed, because Killua admitted he wished it didn’t happen, but he’d hoped— _with all his being_ —that Killua would turn around and let him embrace him in a way that wasn’t driven by fear or sadness.

_And Asher…_

Asher did more than touch him. He tried to _violate_ Killua.

He didn’t know how he was going to slow down until Asher’s face was splattered on the wall.

Killua deserved much more than a thousand apologies, deserved so much more than how he was treated when he was alone and strong but still too frightened and surprised to probably move and… Asher had _forced himself on his best friend_ —

“Hey, Gon, talk to me.”

The softness returns. It clambers through Gon’s jumbled, irrepressible thoughts like a battering ram. He glances up, and finally focuses on Killua’s concerned, skeptical features. He hadn’t realized that Killua had bothered to reach forward and take Gon’s healthy hand in his own, squeezing his palm as tightly as possible.

Their fingers interlock.

He opens his mouth, unsure if he wants to draw Killua’s attention to their hands because, what if he removes it? What if he decides against it and doesn’t want to have this type of contact anymore?

“Um.” It’s all he can say. His throat is dry.

Killua’s brow furrows, but his eyes are gentle. It’s the first look of contentment Gon has seen from his friend for quite a long time, and the fact that it’s happening now… it’s so ironic, really, spotting several bruises, knowing the whiplashes scarring his back, knowing that he’d been attacked and nearly violated only hours before…

“Stay with me, okay?” Killua’s face flushes slightly, and sighs. “Listen, I want you to be here, Gon. I’m sorry for keeping all of these secrets and making you worry. I’ve just been making an ass of myself.”

Gon blinks and, as if a lightbulb clicks in his mind, he squeezes Killua’s hand harder than necessary and stares straight into Killua’s eyes. Fire roars in his veins, pulses behind his palms as he absorbs the surprising coldness in his friend’s much lighter hand.

Killua’s cheeks have turned redder, a surprised gape in his jaw.

“G-Gon—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Killua.” He’s still struggling to hold onto the threads binding his heart and mind in a desperate, thrumming surge of control. He knows what little chance he will have, what little choice he will be given if he does not manage to say at least a few coherent sentences to convince Killua that he’s perfectly capable of walking out of this intact.

But he’s not. Oh, no, he has a mission ingrained in his mind. A mission he is intending to complete.

A message needs to be sent. And Killua cannot know.

“You want me to be here?”

It was one phrase he couldn’t ignore. Killua’s freckles burst into pink on his nose and the slight tracing beneath his exhausted, sleep-deprived eyelids. He slightly hesitates, suddenly bashful beneath the dim light and the grayness of the walls encasing them. Gon realizes with a slight jolt that they are truly alone, separated from beyond a single door to a lower level, with a straight staircase and anther door leading to a room where Killua’s target lies.

Killua finally finds his voice and sputters, using his free hand to scratch the back of his head and glare at the opposite wall.

Gon’s grin is merciless, stretching aside a wide, amused smile. Killua has always been able to look effortlessly adorable against his will, and how easily he gets embarrassed in front of him has only probed their interactions and pushed them into deeper territory.

Gon hesitates, and steps forward. Killua blinks and slowly glances over Gon’s features. The Zoldyck, however, does not seem afraid. His gaze flicks to Gon’s mouth for half a heartbeat, then back to his eyes.

They stare. Breathe. Think.

Gon tilts his head to the side, slowly bringing up one hand to rest on Killua’s cheek. He wouldn’t dare do this or even try to in the past, no matter how tempted he had been over their hangouts after tutoring sessions, where the sun glistened on his friend’s hair so perfectly he wanted to brush aside those strands and watch his blue eyes sparkle.

Killua winces slightly at the touch, but quickly adapts to it. Killua’s skin feels so warm and soft beneath his touch; he has to be careful. Killua is much stronger than he appears, both mentally and physically, but the bruises, the scars, the _memories_ are still there. He doesn’t want to reawaken anything.

A deep, resonating monster slithers into his mind, directing his attention to the bruises on Killua’s lips, the horrible, gnarly blue and purple blotches marring his mouth. Teeth marks. Signs of forced intrusion. Then, he can hardly bring himself back from the image of Asher Perretti forcing Killua to taste _him_ against his _will_ —

Killua was his.

His. Not Asher’s. His.

The startling thought makes Gon instantly feel guilty, but elated. What would Killua think if he told him this? Would he be disgusted? Angry? Afraid?

He’s already gone far enough with kissing him once, with having his hand rest so calmly on Killua’s cheek. He wants to trace his jawline, and tip his head upward just slightly so he can press his lips against his, and kiss away the other person who dared frighten him, who dared step past a boundary that should have never been crossed.

“Gon…?” Killua swallows. “We… there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Gon jolts his hand back, and suddenly laughs. He awkwardly rests one hand on the nape of his neck, hoping that Killua cannot see the rare blush of glee and excitement coloring his skin darker than the normal olive shade. He glances over Killua’s uncertain, yet certainly much calmer, features.

Killua raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah! Perfectly fine!”

The Zoldyck grins crookedly. “Good.” He hesitates, turning towards the ominous, normal and yet, strangely supernatural-feeling door present before them.

Their hands are still interwoven. Gon’s heart leaps.

Sweat builds in Killua’s palms, and he can feel each bead develop and sink into his own skin.

“Okay. I have to do this.” Killua holds his breath, releases Gon’s hand, and walks forward.

Seconds pass. Gon remains several yards behind Killua, tense and ready just in case something springs out and attacks his friend. The door creaks, jolts slightly, as if it hadn’t been opened in years, and Killua pulls out the key that Canary had lent him. He’s visibly shaking, quaking with each breath he takes, with each step that motions further into the room.

The door swings open.

Gon didn’t know what he expected to find in this room other than the apparent Zoldyck sister that Killua had mentioned less than an hour before. Yet, he hadn’t expected _this_.

Pristine, flower-printed wallpaper stretched along four simple walls, closing in on a bedspread rippling with pale blue and lavender silks. Numerous fluffy pillows are crowned with frills and adorned with various childish phrases, plucky and unnaturally tidy. Stuffed animals and broken toy trains are scattered along a periwinkle carpet.

Killua lets out a long, gentle sigh, as if he’d been holding it in for eons.

“Alluka.”

Gon has never heard this vocal side to Killua.

The tenderness, the gentle way his words roll over his tongue as if it’s the most magical spell in the world, and he has the privilege to say it only on account of this one priceless moment. Gon follows where he assumes Killua’s eyes are trained, and there, in the middle of the room, is a little girl seated on the carpet with long, raven tresses for hair and the most striking blue eyes. They rival Killua’s own color, expressive and breathtaking in every way.

This is how he knows that this must be Killua’s sister.

“B-Big Brother?”

Soft. Gentle. Intelligent. Beautiful.

Strong. Undoubtedly, unequivocally, boisterously _strong_.

_Definitely his sister. Definitely._

The shadows wrapped around Gon’s heart begin to fade. He can’t resist the way Killua rushes forward, sprinting as is if his life depends on it, nearly tackling the much smaller female in an embrace that’s so tight and vivid that their emotions can only be witnessed. Their tears of joy and relief gather in the room, and Gon can barely find the voice he wants. He doesn’t feel like he should even be here while the siblings talk and laugh and remark each other as if they are seeing one another for the very first time.

The way Killua is staring at her, the way he is holding her hands in his own and burying his face into her hair…

Aunt Mito had told him several times about the principles of unconditional love. He was convinced it existed to some extent in every person with room for light within their hearts. His youthful optimism hardly faded over the years, yet witnessing this now, having the ability to watch his best friend experience such joy and relief and elation in the span of seconds reminds him that this type of love does, in fact, exist.

It exists, and it thrives.

Gon doesn’t think clearly when he’s finally introduced to her. Her name is Alluka, Killua reminds him, and that smile he wears makes him so breathtaking that he can hardly focus on anything but him. And yet, Alluka regards him sweetly, serenely, telling him that if her brother trusts him, then she will to.

“We can’t stay here,” says Killua, bending down to his sister’s level and cupping her face in his hands. “Alluka, you need to come with me, okay? And—and with Gon.”

Gon nods. Silent.

“B-But why? What’s going on?” Alluka’s innocence transcends the level of most children. Gon can hardly even picture her ever leaving this room, and that thought alone greatly sickens him.

“I don’t really know. But we have to get out of here. Canary helped us. Remember Canary?” Killua bites his lip, tucking one strand of his younger sibling’s hair behind her ear. The act is so gentle Gon wonders if his friend is afraid he’ll shatter her into a million pieces. “It’s going to be okay, Alluka. It’s going to be okay. It all will be okay.”

“Brother…” Alluka’s eyes water. “You look so sad…”

“Huh?” Killua sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “No—no, Alluka, I’m…” He trails off. “I’m happy. Aren’t you? Are you happy?”

Gon comes over to their level, crossing his legs on the carpet and watching Killua closely. He can feel Alluka studying him as well, with the perception of a person who undoubtedly had incredible intelligence and amazing potential for whatever field of study they would go into. Killua was already proud of her, Gon could tell, and the story lingering between them is invisible and yet, all the more real with each second he spends in their company.

He feels honored to be here for this moment.

“I’m happy if my big brother is happy,” says Alluka, sweet and wistful and altogether honest.

Killua pulls her into an embrace, his arms tight. Loving.

Gon doesn’t want to break them apart and tell them that they have little time. But, they don’t have enough hours to truly process what’s happening, to actually understand the gravity of what they’re doing. It breaks his heart to interrupt Killua’s happiness, but he has no choice.

One look from him to Killua, silent and all-knowing, and the Zoldyck remembers. His grip tightens on his sister, and within seconds he hoists Alluka up into his arms. She giggles at this, gradually linking her arms around his neck. He smirks at this, gentle with her as if carrying a porcelain doll, yet he directs his attention to Gon once more.

“Let’s get out of here.” 

* * *

_“Gon.”_

Gon glances up, his fists tightly clenched, a tremor slipping through his muscles and winding through his subconscious in startling waves. His own room seems so much darker than it normally is, the posters on his wall and photographs of hiking trips fading quickly in the background as if they were never there. He can hear the sweet, bell-chime laughter that Alluka possesses—like some lost angel—drift up the stairwell to his own bedroom.

Aunt Mito hadn’t even bothered asking questions. They showed up at his doorstep, desperate, while his adoptive mother quickly guided them into the vicinity. Killua had been tense and awkward, unsure around Gon’s legal guardian, yet she had warmed up to the Zoldyck siblings so quickly it was clearly surreal to them. Killua didn’t expect to crack a smile, keeping his sister so tightly pushed against his chest and wrapped in his arms it seemed impossible to even think of prying her out of his embrace. Eventually, he complied, urging Mito with a sincere, yet strong tone, that she must be gentle with his baby sister.

Gon had slipped away before the others would notice. Killua deserved to speak with Mito on his own accord, without him attached to his hip, especially since this wasn’t about Gon. This was about Killua, and Alluka, and the insane debacle that occurred in his frightening home. There were so many unanswered questions

“Gon. Hey, can we talk?”

Gon finally turns to the door. His smile is broad and unchanging, and seeing Killua now, after all this, after sprinting out of the Zoldyck manor with the clothes on their backs and a few stuffed toys that Alluka couldn’t bear to live without, makes his demeanor soften. Killua flushes slightly at his staring, rolling his eyes, and Gon absorbs his appearance from head to toe.

“Are you—?” Gon sputters and lets out a laugh, pointing at Killua’s outfit. “You’re wearing my Campfire Scouts shirt!”

Killua blinks and growls. “Hey, shut up! It’s what your aunt let me borrow!” He groans and already begins backing up to the door, his hand still poised on the doorknob. Gon realizes with a slight jolt that Killua’s skin is already reddened from the shower, his hair frizzy from being forcefully wrung dry with the somewhat expensive towels left in the bathroom. He’s wearing simple old basketball shorts, which seem so oddly appealing on the Zoldyck boy, and all that Gon can think of is imagining his friend on his team, dribbling a ball down the court alongside him, and smiling as if they’d known each other for years.

Years. Not months. What difference would that have made?

“But why?” Gon snickers. “I’m surprised it fits you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Killua raises an eyebrow. “We’re both kind of similar in size…” he trails off, as if suddenly becoming aware of the slight inaccuracy of his statement. He snorts. “Never mind.” He steps further into Gon’s bedroom, and brings his hands to his pockets. “These shorts are pretty spacious. What do you even need pockets for, though? Basketballs are too big for that.”

Gon suppresses his snicker behind a closed hand.

For a moment, Killua seems honestly curious about this minor detail, shifting his hands in his pockets and staring blankly at Gon, as if presenting an experiment that he can’t figure out and is desperately trying to find a solution.

“You’re cute.” He says it with a grin, with little acknowledgement of how out of nowhere the compliment is, and when Killua’s skin darkens into a startled rosy shade, Gon can hardly hold back his amused laughter. “You are, though!”

“A-Ah, well, anyway, I’m here for… I need to talk to you, about something.” Killua shrugs, attempting to ignore the red splashing his nose and cheeks. He keeps his head held high and his stuttering to a minimum, but he’s clearly embarrassed, and that alone makes the mischievous son of Ging Freecss rather impressed with himself.

Gon straightens from his bedspread, ridding what was left of his angry reaction to his cracking knuckles. He’d managed to quell enough of his rising temper that he was able to think and see clearly for a few extra minutes, and with Killua in his vicinity, safe and clean and happy for once, he finds that it’s much easier to contain his riled emotions.

“Are you okay?”

Killua blinks. “Eh? I mean, sure. Thanks—yeah, thank you. For, yeah, letting Alluka and I stay here for a little bit.” His lips crack into a soft smile. “Your aunt is amazing. She’s so good with Alluka.”

He’s relieved. Overjoyed.

Gon’s heart flutters.

“She’s been excited to meet you and stuff, so it’s no problem.” He watches as Killua closes the bedroom door, the other teen raising one eyebrow towards him, as if testing the slight tension in the air and the clear uncertainty connecting them like a wavering bridge. “I’m glad your sister is safe. And that Killua is safe.” He grins broadly at Killua’s stammering; he can’t help himself when he receives this type of reaction.

He remembers sitting across from his tutor in their fourth week of get-togethers. Killua’s laminated formula sheets were peppered with marker and inked underlines, bubbled notes popping off in the margins and looking so neatly prepared next to his unwrapped chocolates. He’d indulged himself quite often after getting over their frequent informalities.

Gon remembers, on this day in particular, casually reaching across the table and wiping off a smudge of chocolate on his tutor’s pale, pale cheek. Killua had frozen, staring unblinkingly towards Gon, his snowy skin turning an alarming shade of red, and Gon could not hold back his squawk of surprise at how… _cute_ his new companion was.

“Idiot,” mutters Killua.

Gon frowns. “Heh? Why me?”

Killua snorts. “Are you kidding?” He grumbles something inaudible, clearly caught between one thought and another in a strange, non-seeable tug-of-war. “You showed up at my house, out of complete nowhere, by the way, and I swear, Gon, I thought…” He stares into the carpet, his jaw tightening. Gon stiffens at this. “I thought you were losing it. I thought I _made_ you lose it. I’m sorry, for burdening you like that—”

“ _Killua_.” He breathes sharply through his nose, mouth closed. He comes closer to Killua, who slightly backs away at first, surprise written into his narrowed eyelids and bruised lips. “We’re friends. You…” _You’re not a burden. How could you be? You’re not. You never were. You never will be. Never._ “You’re my best friend. Problems between best friends don’t have to be kept secret.”

He hesitates, especially at the unsure glimmer in Killua’s eyes. It feels strange, and somewhat awkward, being the one to express himself in a moment like this, when he’s hardly had the chance to voice his intentions or questionable thoughts in the midst of his close companion, tutor. Friend.

“I shouldn’t have involved you,” says Killua.

“I _want_ to be involved, Killua,” whispers Gon.

He’s so close now, with Killua only a few inches from where he stands. The Zoldyck glances up, just a hairsbreadth shorter than the jock, his curiosity pushing aside the threads of fear and instability that had lingered there so vividly beforehand. Being this close to this indescribable teen and making sure to keep a good enough distance between them to not make him uncomfortable, sends a slight shrill down Gon’s spine.

Killua steps back, and suddenly the light switch flicks off. He stammers at this and curses at his so-called “clumsiness,” though Gon only chuckles at his friend’s inability to conceal his embarrassment. The more he bristles, the more he resembles an irritated cat, and it drives Gon up the wall with utter delight and amusement.

“Ugh. Great.” Killua snorts.

Gon’s hand reaches out, and tenderly cups Killua’s jaw. He feels Killua shiver beneath this contact, knowing that the other teen was intent on turning the lights back on. For reasons he can’t explain, he doesn’t want that to happen. To have him so close to him, the both of them shielded from the outside world, from the glaring of the moon spilling through Gon’s windowsill, and the incredible luck that allowed Killua’s sister to escape from his terrible home…

“What do you want from this?”

Killua holds his breath at the question.

Gon didn’t even realize he’d asked until he hears his own voice echo back to him in his room. Beyond the door, he hears Mito’s scuffling shoes and Alluka’s much lighter footsteps, the faint, feminine giggles sweetening the silence like the laughter of an angel.

“… Think I should be asking _you_ that, Freecss.” Killua’s quiet now. Serious.

Gon slowly steps forward, his hands moving on their own accord.

His bandaged one remains at his side, yet the other searches, trailing up Killua’s arm, just an inch away from his skin. Feather-light and curious, but cautious all the same. He doesn’t want to admit how much he wants to turn the tables around and tell Killua exactly how he feels, but he will be damned if he does so without the other teen allowing him permission.

Then, Gon, even in the darkest expanse of his bedroom, spots one. A bruise. Its finger-like shadows slither over Killua’s skin, his form so light and moon-kissed even in darkness.

He suppresses the boiling anger still simmering in the back of his mind, the image of Asher Perretti and his idiotic, smug face, his confidence rolling off his body in waves each time he speaks to Killua Zoldyck.

Gon wordlessly rests his hand on Killua’s forearm where the bruise rests. He hears Killua’s breathing turn slower, hesitant as to what his intentions are. A subtle flinch rides under his skin, reminiscent of a natural reaction over what he’d experienced only hours before.

He’s so selfish. Touching him like this. Even though he’s careful and keeping his friend’s wishes in mind, it’s still so early. God, what is _wrong_ with him?

“Gon. Don’t. Please.”

Those three words slam into Gon’s skull like an unbreakable spell. He stiffens, his tongue turning dry as sandpaper as he recollects the violent, unbridled images hurling through his consciousness, the dreadful aggression that plagues him from time to time with little to no control. After hours of brooding and concentrating he’d been able to abate his reaction to Killua’s near-assault, but now, being reminded of it chills him to the bone, commands him with almost supernatural strength.

“I-I’m sorry,” he breathes out. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It sounds so… detached. Void. Almost animalistic; is this what he sounds like when he’s lost in his own anger?

Then, he feels another hand rest on Gon’s, the one pressing into Killua’s forearm. It’s gentle and soothing in its coldness, heat quickly gathering in the contact and sparking between them in a silent, electric current.

“Don’t go after him. He’s not worth it.”

A growl, deep and dangerous, resonates in Gon’s chest and then throat. He can’t stop it, and he knows Killua hears it, judging by the squeezing of one hand over his own.

“He _hurt_ you—”

“I get hurt all the time, Gon. I’m tough enough to deal with it.” Oh, Gon is well-aware of this. He’s been amazed by the other teen’s strength since the moment he understood that the rumored, pretentious Zoldyck prodigy was much deeper than the layers assigned to him by the public. “Alluka’s safe. That’s all that matters.”

Gon shakes his head. “I don’t understand why you’re okay with this.”

“I’m not okay with it.” Killua sighs. Gon can almost _hear_ him rolling his eyes. “No one _likes_ being forced into that. I told him to fuck off and left. Hell, he didn’t even follow me. Just drop it.”

_Just drop it._

Gon forces himself to nod. He doesn’t want to lie to Killua, but there is no way he’s going to let Asher Perretti escape this unscathed. And if Killua can’t know, then so be it.

“But.” Gon notes Killua’s Adam’s apple bobbing in the darkness, the hesitance flickering in his ocean-blue irises. “But, I’m… thanks.” He ducks his head, eyelashes dark and fluttering like the wings of startled butterflies. “Thanks for… for all of this. For caring. You know. That stuff.”

Just like that, Gon’s temporary anger subsides. _For now._

“You’re amazing,” he whispers.

Killua’s head jolts back up and they lock eyes.

Hot, scorching amber meets stormy grayish blue. They hold onto one another’s expression in the darkness, watching as the various shades in starlight through the windows on Gon’s bedroom wall illuminate their features, form contoured lines into their muscles and the fabric of their clothes. Gon slowly moves even closer, though this time, Killua does not show resistance. As if hypnotized, the Zoldyck studies him, a silent inquiry brewing in his gaze, as if probing him to move forward but also unsure of what he wants.

“You shouldn’t say stuff you don’t mean,” he whispers, still not looking away.

Gon’s smirk returns. Playful. Arrogant. He can sense heat radiating from Killua’s skin.

“I don’t say stuff I don’t mean,” he says, breath ghosting over Killua’s lips. He watches him swallow.

He remembers the way they fought for dominance in the alleyway, the heat of the sun scorching onto their backs. He recalls, so vividly, those spare few minutes and thinks about it too much for the good of his health, at least to the insistence of his aunt. Then again, he’d rather become lost in those images and thoughts than not have a friend like Killua at his side. He’d rather have those to hold onto than none at all.

“So,” says Gon, taking the same hand and drawing it up to press on the other side of Killua’s profile. Killua, as if in challenge, stiffens, and keeps himself positioned, and does not waver when Gon brings up his injured hand as well and positions it on the opposite side of Killua’s head. They’re inches apart, their body heat collecting in a bickering, sparking tornado. One move, and it would change instantly. “What does Killua want from this?”

_What do you want from me?_

Killua swallows. His mouth parts. Another blush.

Gon grinds his teeth to keep himself in control.

“Gon,” whispers Killua, and a sudden fire shoots through his eyes, his command hammering into his friend’s ear with nothing but beautiful force. “Kiss me.”

Gon’s smile is unbreakable. He leans in, and gradually captures Killua’s lips in his own. It’s feather-light, soft, and he’s desperately keeping his movements slow as to not scare him. Killua’s lips are gentle beneath, and with a flick of his teeth, inviting him to go further, and as Gon presses himself slowly more and more onto Killua’s frame he inwardly delights at the moan collecting from the Zoldyck’s mouth.

Killua’s arms snake around Gon’s neck. Gon takes the invitation wholeheartedly, pressing his strong hands onto the other’s hips, stroking circles into the fabric of his thin shirt and finding the slight traces of bare skin. He’s careful, despite how much he wants to see more of Killua. He’s not going to push him too far. Not tonight. Not anytime soon. Not now.

It takes less than a minute for Gon to shift them from the wall and place them both on his bed. Killua’s back slides onto the bedsheets, but he doesn’t stop kissing Gon. He doesn’t stop letting Gon move his hands over Killua’s shirt, twitching with the desire to see more but knowing how to hold himself back. It takes every ounce of mental strength he has left to push aside those selfish interests; it’s selfish of him enough to even kiss Killua in the first place.

Finally, Gon is the first one to break contact. He looks down onto Killua’s form. His friend has never looked more beautiful; his skin flushed with heat and eyes sparkling with new life and lust and… maybe a forbidden affection neither of them would dare think about so soon, but something lingers there regardless. His clothes are rumpled, his hair tousled against his sheets, and he’s panting as if he’s run a marathon.

Gon’s smile returns.

“Why’d you stop?” Killua smirks. “Did I bore you?”

Gon laughs. He’s so relieved, seeing Killua unwind like this, and oh does he feel blessed at being the first and only one to see it. It delights him in ways he never would have expected otherwise. “Just thought I’d give you a break.” He winks. “Can’t control myself. You’re just…” He tilts his head. “You’re perfect.”

Killua sputters and glares, but the flattery makes his lips quirk into a crooked smile. “Whatever. Dummy.” He exhales, and then, reaches out to grab the back of Gon’s hair and flips the two of them over. Gon nearly squeaks in surprise at this action, finding himself beneath Killua as the other straddles him rather effortlessly.

The basketball player can hardly contain the grin etched onto his features. Killua is leaning close, his glare and smirk flirtatious and feline. His heart races.

“I let you do that,” breathes Gon.

“Yeah. Sure.” Killua leans closer. “Whoever passes out from exhaustion first loses.”

Gon’s eyes brighten at the challenge. He grins and leans upward, catching the Zoldyck by surprise. He snatches Killua’s shoulders, only to drag his fingers down his back. He smirks darkly at the shiver racing down Killua’s spine, the surprise glimmering in those irises.

“I’m gonna win,” Gon growls out.

“We’ll just have to see.” Killua’s mask of confidence is more than convincing.

“Mmhm.” He lunges forward and captures Killua in another kiss, the other muffling at the impact of their teeth clanking together. They become tangled into each other within seconds, caught between winning a silly contest and enjoying the feel of the other’s body heat flushed against their own.

Tonight, Killua deserves this.

Tomorrow…

Gon’s thoughts briefly flicker back to his teammate. His co-captain. His former friend. That tall, lanky and muscular figure, those green orbs for eyes, that familiar gold hoop earring and ruffled mousy brown hair. The person he can only now consider an enemy at best.

 _Tomorrow._ He smiles into another kiss. _Tomorrow, I’ll find the person who hurt you, Killua._

And he’ll make him pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND that's the end of "Espial." 
> 
> First off, I want to thank each and every one of you for being so dedicated to this series. Part 5 of the Library Chronicle will be up next week, and will be titled "Safeguard," consisting of two total chapters. Be on the lookout for that! And for those of you wondering, there will be six parts total. So, this series is actually coming to a close pretty soon! 
> 
> Once again, THANK YOU for the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and everything else. It means the WORLD to me as a writer and lover of this fandom. 
> 
> So, what did you think of this chapter? More insight will be shed on the Zoldyck family in due time, and of course, Gon is ready for his confrontation with Asher. Just what will become of these characters in Part 5? 
> 
> Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> And how the stakes have turned...
> 
> What did you guys think? It's certainly become more serious of a story. Part 4 of the Chronicle will be split into three chapters, with the first from Asher's point of view, the second from Killua, and the third from Gon. You get all three characters in this one. 
> 
> Please do not be afraid to let me know what you think in the comments below. Thank you!


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